


Exit, Pursued by a Twunk

by cortexikid



Series: We Can’t All Be Shakespeare [1]
Category: IT (2019), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie and Stan and Adrian have been resurrected because fuck Stephen King, Eddie is a jealous brat, First Kiss, Fix-It, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie is being interviewed while the Losers watch, Richie is out and proud and has a successful stand-up show on Netflix, outside pov, some questions about his love-life get awkward
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22452073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/pseuds/cortexikid
Summary: “Have you ever been in love?”Richie's gaze shoots up from Eddie to the interviewer, every drop of blood draining from his face. It's fleeting, but his eyes briefly bolt back down to his irritated friend.“Nope.”The word is punched from him in a winded breath, as if he's wounded.And in that moment, the journalist understands what the rest of the Losers know already.Richie is in love with Eddie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: We Can’t All Be Shakespeare [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1623406
Comments: 69
Kudos: 754





	Exit, Pursued by a Twunk

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my fourth Reddie fic in as many months because I've no self-control. 
> 
> This idea came about when I was struck with the thought of how much Adrian and Don would have loved the Losers and how much Adrian would have shipped Reddie. Haven't written an outsider's, present-tense POV in a while either, so much fun was had on my end. Hope it's as good for you as it was for me ;)

_**One man in his time plays many parts...** _

_**~ As You Like It, Act II, Scene VII** _

_**~*~** _

“Mr Tozier, thanks so much for sitting down with me today.”

Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier waves a hand as a hairstylist does her utmost to try and tame the wild bird’s nest atop his head before sighing, seemingly giving up and storming out of the room.

The comedian watches her go for a moment, unfazed. Jake has a feeling that this is an all-too-common occurrence. 

“No problem, man,” Richie smirks, eyes dancing, “First time I’ve sat down all day. Pretty sure everyone thinks I have haemorrhoids.”

The journalist, Jake Daniels of _Here ‘n’ Queer Magazine_ snorts a laugh, thankful that he had just put down his bottle of water, lest it be spat everywhere. 

“Well, if you’d like to put that rumour to rest...” he chuckles, trailing off to slide his dictaphone across the small coffee table.

“Just a few questions and I’ll be out of your–”

“What the fuck, Richard?! Did you forget to tell that asshole in security about me again?”

Both Jake and Richie whip around at the sudden voice that had just burst through the dressing-room door. There, standing on the threshold with a furrowed brow and unapologetic air, is a short, fuming brunet, his dark eyes glaring daggers at the comedian.

“Fucking Bill and Bev breeze through no problem, famous faces and shit. Ben waltzes in being the fucking model he is. Stan already has a pass somehow, because of course he fucking does, and Mike is currently talking light fixtures with his new buddy, the stage guy. So, that just leaves me to nearly have a throw down with that beefy, walking god-complex at the front gate. What the shit, dude?! Did you not put me on the fucking list?”

After a beat, wherein both Jake and Richie take in that whirlwind of information, the latter collects himself and beams at his friend, his entire face lighting up.

“Must have slipped my mind, Eduardo, my bad. I’m uh…” he shoots a glance at Jake, “I’m kinda in the middle of something though, so–”

Five faces appearing over Eddie’s shoulder abruptly cut him off mid-sentence. 

“Why are we hangin’ in the hallway?” a tall, incredibly handsome man that Jake immediately knows to be ‘Ben the fucking model’ asks, peeking his head around the door.

“Because Eds has zero manners,” Richie retorts, waving them all in.

The gang spills into the room with a buzz about them, something that only close friends that are used to moving almost like a pack, could emulate. Jake remembers how in high school, his own group of friends moved in much the same way, each small cluster of people having separate conversations all at the same time, while still not ignoring anyone else in the group. It’s fascinating to watch, really. Especially considering this group are all in their forties instead of hormonal teenagers. 

The dressing room is hardly small, pretty much the size of a standard hotel suite, but with an extra six people suddenly filling up space, Jake can’t help but feel a little claustrophobic.

“Jake Daniels from _Here 'n' Queer Magazine_ ,” Richie leans forward in his chair, “let me make introductions ‘cause I’ll probably be bringing these assholes up in conversation soon anyway.”

The journalist nods, his interest piqued at finally getting to see the famous ‘Loser’s Club’ that Richie often mentions in his act, up close and personal.

“This is Bill Denbrough, cute as a button and horror-writer extraordinaire,” Richie begins, pointing to the short, fair-haired man that Jake recalls from the sleeve of his hardback copy of the New York Times’ 2018 best-seller, ‘ _Pound-Foolish._ ’ 

“That tall drink of water beside him is Mike Hanlon, a sexy librarian turned globetrotter,” Richie gestures to a handsome, African-American man who is rolling his eyes and folding his impressive arms over an even more impressive chest. He looks like a man that smells amazing.

Richie winks at his friend's bemusement before continuing, “And beside him, is the gorgeous and talented fashion designer, Beverly Marsh. I _know_ you know her, if your jacket is anything to go by.” 

Jake could feel his cheeks heat up as he suddenly remembers that he is indeed wearing an out-of-season Rogan-Marsh that he got on sale when Marsh launched her solo line. He’s a journalist, not a movie-star, okay? Sue him. He isn’t made of money.

Beverly merely smiles at him though, seemingly not judging him at all, actually appearing rather flattered by his choice of clothing. Huh. He must try and nab her for an interview next. His gaggle of gays totally ate up the inspiring story of her leaving her abusive husband and striking out on her own. Stood to reason that _Here 'n' Queer_ readers would too. 

“The absolute smoke-show next to her is not actually an Abercrombie and Fitch model, don’t be fooled,” Richie leans further forward, stage-whispering conspiratorially, “He’s an _architect_ of all things. Ben Hanscom of Hanscom & Associates. Can you believe it? Waste of a good face if you ask me. And next to him, glaring at me like he wants me to be sucked into another dimension where I never began this speech, is our resident DILF, Stanley Uris, a hotshot lawyer that definitely regrets leaving his pregnant wife to come see his annoying, childhood friend embarrass himself on stage.” 

Jake looks over to see Stanley doing just that, the human embodiment of the unimpressed emoji.

“So, they’re the O.G. Losers Club,” Richie concludes with a wave of his hand, completely unperturbed by his friend’s stare, “You want to continue with–"

“Hold up dickwad, what about me? Don’t _I_ get a fancy introduction?” 

Richie whirls back around to Eddie who’s looking from him, to Jake, and back again, hands on his hips.

The comedian blinks. 

Once. 

Twice.

“Uh, thought you kinda made your own introduction there, Eds, but sure,” he shrugs, turning back to Jake, smirking, “And this little ray of sunshine is Eddie Spaghetti–”

“Not my name–”

“Who is a boredom adviser–”

“Risk analyst–”

“And has never learned how to knock.” 

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up at the friends’ snappy back and forth.

“Are they always like this?” he asks the rest of the Losers.

“Since 1984,” they all reply in unison as if rehearsed. Or maybe just repeated many, many times over the years.

Jake chuckles as Richie clears his throat, shifting in his chair a little.

_He didn't comment on Eddie's appearance. Weird._

Mike takes a step forward, looking down at his friend at little apologetically. 

“You want us to head out, Rich? Give you some privacy?” 

Richie pauses, cogs clearly turning in his brain before he shrugs, tilting his head at Jake.

“I don’t mind them hangin’ out here, if you don’t? Trust me, it’s probably for the best if we don’t leave them to their own devices.” 

Mike snorts, no doubt conceding that his friend has a point, before moving across the room.

Jake glances from Richie to where the group has begun making themselves at home, Beverly and Ben taking a seat on the small couch, Stan grabbing himself a water from the mini-fridge, Bill and Mike talking in low tones at the edge of the room, and Eddie, who has yet to move an inch, staring right back at him.

Jake tears his gaze away from Eddie’s oddly steely one, glancing down at the notes in his lap.

“Some of these questions get a little personal, Mr Tozier. Are you sure you–"

“Dude, call me Richie, please. And these guys already know about all the rainbow skeletons in my closet,” Richie cuts across him, snatching up his cell phone from off the table and pocketing it, “and even if they didn’t, they’d soon read all about them. So, go ahead, ask me anything. I’m an open book.”

Jake quirks an eyebrow at him, but relents.

“Alright, well, let’s start with the obvious, then. You just said you’re an open book. But, you weren’t always. By your own admission, you’ve been closeted for the greater part of forty years. So, my first question is - why come out now? And did it have anything to do with you wanting to perform your own material after years of using ghost writers?” 

Richie’s jaw drops a little, his eyes flickering over to his friends who were now all watching intently.

“Whoa, you’re goin’ straight for the jugular, huh? Alright.” 

He folds an ankle across his knee, holding it in place with his hands as he considers his response.

“I uh...I guess I was just sick of hiding who I am. Tired of spouting sexist and homophobic jokes written by straight, white, twenty-five-year-old dickholes with a degree in Sex and Masculinity Studies or some shit,” he lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug, “A...A good friend reminded me recently that I shouldn’t be afraid. That I should be who I wanna be. And be proud. So...that’s what I’m trying to do.” 

A beat of silence follows his words.

Jake chances a glance over at the Losers, noting that not one of them seems particularly surprised by Richie’s response, but each radiating their own pride at his words.

He focuses back on his notes, a pleasant warmth spreading in his chest. 

“And how has the response to your coming out live on stage been for you personally?” 

Richie sucks in his bottom lip, gnawing on it thoughtfully.

“Like, ninety percent awesome? Tons of support, retweets, likes, 1.3 million more followers. And that's just Twitter. Meeting fans in real life that admit to hating my old act, but my new one means the world to them has been...a dream come true." 

He pauses, eyes lowering slightly. 

'But there’s always that ten percent of shittiness, you know? The trolls, the homophobes burning their ‘Trashmouth’ T-shirts, that kinda thing. But the positivity makes up for it tenfold. And at the end of the day, I’ve learned to not let what strangers think of me matter too much,” he laughs, a little self-deprecating, “if thirteen-year-old me could see me now.” 

Jake can tell there’s a story there.

He abandons his next scripted-question for one that springs to mind.

“And what was thirteen-year-old you like?” 

That provokes a series of reactions from the Losers from chuckling, to scoffing, to a loud groan coming from the vicinity of Eddie, who has taken a seat in Richie’s nearby makeup chair, swivelling around to unabashedly watch the interview.

Jake silently observes as Richie rakes his eyes over all of his friends individually, his gaze catching on Eddie for a split-second longer than the rest.

_Huh. Interesting._

“Oh, shut up,” the comic flips the whole gang the bird, “you all loved thirteen-year-old Trashmouth. He was a riot. A legend in the making. A–”

“Annoying attention-seeker with a potty-mouth and an arsenal of bad impressions,” Eddie finishes with a smirk.

Richie gapes at him, throwing a hand over his chest and doubling over in his seat.

“Edward! You wound me! You _loved_ my impressions! Señor Caca, Irish Cop, the British guy, Penny–”

“So you were always the entertainer, then?” Jake decides to interject, sensing an oncoming argument from the two friends that he’s beginning to learn is probably best to avoid if he wants to get the interview done before dinner.

Richie drags his gaze away from Eddie.

“Yeah, I guess. Someone had to distract these disasters from awkward teenage angst, impromptu boners and childhood trauma.” 

He says it like a joke. But something about the air in the room makes Jake feel it was anything but. Which inspires his next unscripted-question to try and steer the conversation in a lighter direction.

“Did you get many impromptu boners?”

Jake can’t stop the pleased expression from crossing his face when that enquiry rips a surprised chuckle from the comedian, his eyes dancing. Heat blooms in Jake’s stomach at the sound and he is reminded, all over again, just how _big_ his _tiny_ crush on Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier actually is.

He’d have his own impromptu boner soon if he isn’t careful.

_Why did I agree to interview him again?_

The feeling of eyes boring into the side of his face breaks him from his reverie.

He makes the mistake of looking up, catching on the dark gaze of Eddie–whatever his last name is–Richie never did get around to telling him. But he highly doubts it’s 'Spaghetti.' 

The journalist clears his throat, forcing himself to look back to Richie. Not that it's that hard.

_As long as nothing else gets hard, Daniels, Jesus. Focus._

“Ha, I mean, didn’t we all pop a few?” Tozier asks with a smirk, “Well, except for Bev. Obviously." 

Beverly lets out a loud snort from her perch on the couch. 

"You know nothing of my boners, Trashmouth," she quips, nonchalantly eating from a bowlful of grapes.

"But I _do_ know you've big dick energy, Marsh. As the kids say," Richie retorts before turning his attention back to Jake, his expression sombring slightly. 

"I guess I had to be even more careful with any misplaced... _feelings_. Small town USA. The ‘80s, you know…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck.

Something lurches in the pit of Jake’s stomach as he viserally recalls his own struggles as a gay kid growing up. Tozier is being uncharacteristically candid. A not quite pleasant surprise, (considering the painful subject,) but a welcome one. The Losers are now notably occupying themselves with their own quiet conversations, seemingly paying them no mind anymore. 

Well, all but one.

Jake ignores Eddie’s unrelenting stare and decides to change tact once more, striving for a little levity before he asks the harder hitting stuff.

“So, no secret rendezvous for high school Richie?”

Richie’s eyebrows shoot up, his foot jiggling from where he still had a hold of his ankle.

“What, you wanna hear about how I blew a football star under the bleachers when I was fifteen, or something?” 

Jake gapes at him.

The room falls silent.

“ _Did you_?”

That isn’t exactly what he had planned to ask next, but this interview is proving to be more off-the-cuff than his usual stuff.

Richie shoots a concerned glance in the direction of his friends who are forgetting to be subtle about listening in.

“Uh…" 

"Who was it?" Eddie asks suddenly, his entire body tense in his seat, "It wasn't..." he falters for a second, " _you know who,_ was it, Richie? God, didn't he like dunk your head down–"

"No Eds, it wasn't Voldemort," Richie sighs, looking back to Jake, "but in an effort to not kiss and tell, I'm gonna go with a 'no comment' and ask my mouthy friend here to shut the fuck up and mind his own business."

Jake can see Eddie’s scandalised expression from the corner of his eye. Sensing something brewing, he decides to pivot again.

“Okay, something easier, then," he scours his notes before landing on - "What was your first gay bar experience like?”

That wrenches another laugh from Richie, "Well, I was so far in the closet at the time my BFF was Aslan, so, kinda uneventful, to be honest. Like, at the first sign of interest, I was all 'exit, pursued by a bear then apologise and let the bear down gently, kinda deal.'"

"Poor bear." 

"Yeah, he was a nice dude. Hope he found someone."

Jake smiles. 

"You're sweet," he remarks without thinking. 

Richie stills, a small, almost shy smile spreading across his face as he murmurs:

"Thanks." 

There’s a pause where Jake and Richie lock gazes, the former's heart beating chaotically against his ribcage. 

He can feel more than a few pairs of eyes watching the two of them and cringes to think what a sight they, and particularly him, must make...

_Stay professional Daniels, dammit._

"So, now that you're out," he forces himself to continue, staring down at his notes and fighting a blush, "Have your recent gay bar experiences gone better? Any more broken-hearted bears? Tearful twinks?" 

Richie snorts, shifting in his seat. 

"Nah, I pretty much just stick with these Losers whenever they're in town. Most other days is just me, my pet turtle, Matty, and my Netflix subscription. Haven't really had time to date with, you know, everything."

_He's single..._

“Well uh, our _Here 'n' Queer_ readers will be pleased to hear that,” Jake smirks, hoping it will off-set his probably tomato-red face.

If the side-eye he is receiving from at least four of the six remaining Losers and the stone-cold glare he is feeling from a certain brunet is anything to go by, he can surmise it doesn’t. 

Richie adjusts his glasses, foot jiggling. “Heh, good to know, man. I can use all the help I can get.” 

Jake's entire body is on fire as he rambles:

“Oh, I’m sure you don't need any help in that depart–"

A loud cough interrupts him. 

Wearily, his slides his gaze over towards the sound and is wholly unsurprised at its originator. 

"Shouldn't you be asking about his Netflix deal?"

Jake raises an eyebrow as Richie leans over, addressing Eddie with a puzzled expression.

"The man doesn't tell you how to predict how having fun will end up killing you, or whatever, Eddie. Let him do his job, man." 

The two friends stare at one another, the air electric. There is definitely a level of intensity to it that, if Jake’s intuition is correct, is something a little different to what their usual bickering sessions are probably like.

"No, he's right. That was my next question anyway," Jake’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife, "What _was_ it like when you got the Netflix deal?"

The next few questions and answers focus purely on the mechanics of the comic's upcoming show, _Clownin' Around._ The unique challenges Richie faced with not only coming out, but with admitting to not been performing his own material for decades. He had an uphill battle ahead to sway his already established fanbase made up of mostly dudebros and divorcees, while also trying to form a new fanbase to appreciate his more open and honest humour. 

"And we could argue that you've done that."

Richie grins at Jake’s summary.

“I hope so, man. Otherwise, people are gonna be pissed they’re out sixty-five bucks.”

The atmosphere in the room has calmed significantly, the Losers seemingly happy to occupy themselves while casually overhearing their friend speak of his success with proud expressions. Even Eddie, who had been the most engaged with the interview process, seems to have left them to it, typing vigorously into his cellphone as if playing a particularly violent game of Candy Crush.

It’s here that Jake decides to strike.

"Well, now that we have all the showbiz talk out of the way - let’s get into the good stuff. The ooey gooey, nitty gritty.”

Richie raises an eyebrow, a look of suspicion passing over his handsome face.

“Who was your first crush?”

Richie, who had leaned over to grab a water bottle, ends up knocking it over, it thumbling to the floor with a loud clatter.

The room falls silent, seven pairs of eyes looking at the bottle and back up to Richie, who seems to find the grey rug under his feet the most interesting thing he has ever seen, all of a sudden. 

“Uh–"

“If you say my mom, dude, I swear to God,” Eddie cuts in over his friend’s hesitation, phone quickly abandoned.

That seems to kickstart something in Richie, his odd tenseness melting away as he tilts his head at Jake, eyes alight with mischief, a wide grin spreading across his face, noticeably more animated. 

“Oh, Mr Daniels, let me tell you all about how Mrs Sonia Kaspbrak stole my heart when I was but a boy of elev–"

“ _Richie_ ,” Eddie warns, his voice pitched low.

  
  


Richie shifts in his seat, clearly perturbed, although by what, isn't the most clear to the journalist. He seems to be at a bit of a loss, eyeballing Jake again before leaping up out of the chair and snatching the glass of water that his friend Stan was in the middle of drinking and knocking it back. 

  
  


Stan’s stare is downright murderous. Richie is unfazed as he begins answering over his shoulder.

  
  


“What ya gotta know about where we grew up, Jake my man, was that it was a shithole. Truly a backwards fucking hellscape. So, there wasn’t a whole lotta options for a closet-case like yours truly."

  
  


The journalist scoffs, “Oh, come on. You didn’t have _one_ crush?”

  
  


Richie falters mid-step, exchanging another look with Stanley that Jake can't for the life of him decipher, before shrugging, abruptly pivoting to his left.

  
  


“Well, I maybe had a teeny-tiny thing for ol’ Billy boy, here,” Richie winks, throwing an arm around his writer friend’s shoulders and dropping a kiss to his cheek with a loud smack.

  
  


Bill rolls his eyes, clearly amused by his antics.

  
  


“Yeah right, Rich,” he chuckles, giving him a playful shove.

  
  


“What?” Richie asks, his tone pitched high in what Jake surmises is meant to convey innocence, “is it that hard to believe that Big Bill got my blood pump–"

  
  


“Bullshit,” Eddie interjects, hand flying through the air in a karate-chop motion, staring up at Richie in defiance. 

  
  


Richie’s mouth opens and closes several times, a noticeable tinge to his cheeks.

  
  


“Uh, not bullshit, Eds. What can I say? There was just something about that stutter of his, you know? _Se-Sexy_ ,” he jostles Bill, where his arm is still slung around his shoulder, leaning forward to glance across the room, “ _You_ get what I mean, right, Mikey?” 

  
  


Mike, for his part, seems to be largely ignoring Richie, but Jake can't help but notice the nervous twitch of the other man’s lips.

  
  


“Not buying it,” Eddie snorts, folding his arms.

  
  


Richie leans further into Bill, “Come on, Eds, yeah you do. I’m pretty sure Bill Denbrough was _everyone’s_ first crush.”

  
  


“Not mine.” 

  
  


The room plunges into another silence, this one heavier than the first.

  
  


Jake watches as Richie gapes down at Eddie as if seeing him for the first time, his eyes as wide as saucers. Eddie, for his part, is now flushing a deep crimson.

  
  


“Wow, thanks Eddie. I feel so loved,” Bill pipes up, instantly dissipating the weird tensity that had engulfed the room.

Eddie winces, eyeing his friend apologetically. 

  
  


“Uh, sorry Bill. I didn’t mean it like–"

  
  


“Who _did_ you have a crush on?” Richie cuts across him, his tone sharp, his arm falling from Bill’s shoulder as he walks closer to where Eddie sits.

  
  


Jake can't take his eyes away from the two men as they stare at one another, locked in a silent battle of wills. 

Several seconds pass.

  
  


Eddie breaks eye contact first. 

  
  


"Last time I checked this was your interview, Rich. Not mine." 

  
  


A shadow passes over Richie's face then. His shoulders slump almost imperceptibly. But Jake hasn't been a journalist for a decade without picking up on little nuances in body language. 

  
  


He is disappointed. Dejected. 

  
  


_Very interesting._

  
  


Jake strikes again.

  
  


“Have you ever been in love?”

  
  


Richie's gaze shoots up from Eddie to Jake, his body like a live wire as he visibly tries to control his face that looks as if he has been handed a bomb to diffuse. Jake rakes his eyes over that face. It's fleeting, a barely there fraction of a glance, really. But Richie's eyes do bolt briefly down to his irritated friend who is still staring up at him from the makeup chair. 

  
  


“Nope.” 

  
  


The word is punched from him in a winded breath as if he's wounded. 

  
  


It’s the first lie he’s told. 

And in that moment Jake understands what, (judging by their faces as they all surreptitiously watch the duo,) the rest of the Losers know already.

Richie is in love with Eddie.

_Fuck. There goes my unprofessional dream of asking him out after this._

It's kinda obvious now that Jake really lets himself look at how Richie has behaved. He may have only seen them interact in the last twenty minutes, but in those twenty minutes, Eddie had made Richie's entire being light up like a Christmas tree, the easy teasing and back and forth banter downright enthralling to watch as well as the palpable tension that seems to hang between the two. 

Jake looks to Eddie then, trying to gauge his reaction to Richie’s reply, but finds that the man’s attention is now back on his phone. But gone is the ferocious typing. It sits lax in his hand, his eyes staring down at a blank screen as if it is some sort of abyss. 

_Huh._

Richie bolts across the room, snapping Jake from his reverie as he plonks himself back down in the seat opposite him.

“Anyone ever call you ‘Jack’ by mistake?” he asks in a clear bid to change the subject, his voice tinged with a hint of mania. Desperation.

Jake’s heart lurches. He takes pity on him.

“God, I cannot tell you how many times a date has ordered me a JD and coke as a joke.” 

“How unoriginal,” Richie snorts, latching onto the new subject like a drowning man, “I’d go with a whiskey sour, myself. The joke’s still there, but more subtle.” 

A laugh rumbles from Jake’s chest, a flush overwhelming him at the implication.

A movement from the corner of his eye nabs his attention. Eddie is standing, making his way to the door.

“I uh, gotta answer this,” he mutters quietly, gesturing with his phone that doesn’t appear to be ringing, before flinging the door open and stepping out, it shutting behind him with a loud snap.

Jake looks from the door, to the Losers, who are all staring at it too, all but Richie, who is focusing on wringing his hands. 

The journalist catches Bev’s eye, she wearing the exact same expression as all of her friends. Frustration.

_Ah. Jake gets it now._

_Eddie is in love with Richie right back._

_But Richie doesn’t know._

_Fucking typical. Even I couldn’t write this shit._

He clears his throat, looking back down to his notes, needing to shift gears.

(And maybe nurse his semi-broken heart a little.)

  
  


“So, can tell me about the Adrian Mellon Foundation?”

  
  


Richie looks up, determination sparking behind his signature specs. 

  
  


“Yeah, sure. It was set up by me and Adrian’s partner, Don Hagerty, after Adrian was brutally beaten while visiting Derry. They beat him within an inch of his life because he dared to kiss his boyfriend in public in 2016. He...he died, was clinically dead for...awhile,” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, his face forlorn.

  
  


“Then, by some medical marvel, he pulled through. Still, he had a lot of problems after the attack and his recovery wasn’t easy. Don and I met in the hospital after...after my friend was...injured in a separate incident. We got to talking one night in the cafeteria and struck up a friendship. I had read about Adrian’s attack and Don filled me in on all the details. Everything just kinda snowballed from there.”

  
  


“When you say snowballed, do you mean your very public campaign to get those responsible for the attack arrested?”

  
  


Richie nods, his jaw clenched.

  
  
  


“Way I see it, I have a platform. Might as well use it, get the word out there. There were shit-stains in shitsville, Maine, thinking they could get away with a hate crime, an attempted fucking murder. Fuck that. So, if the police refused to do their jobs, someone else was gonna do it for them.” 

  
  


“And it worked,” Jake states rather than asks.

  
  


A small smile spreads across Richie’s face.

  
  


“Yeah, it worked. My tweets went viral and before I knew it, the FBI got involved, somehow, I don’t understand how jurisdiction works, man, but they got those assholes. They’re serving fifteen to life as we speak.” 

  
  


“Justice was served.”

  
  


Richie nods.

  
  


“And how is Adrian doing now?” 

  
  


“He’s better. Still has weekly physical therapy, but he’s getting there. Having the foundation, helping other LGBTQ+ people, I think it’s really helped his own recovery. And Don...well, he needed a new job and it just so happened that I needed a new PA–”

  
  


He breaks off with a laugh, “So, Don and Adrian became good friends of mine. We were brought together through tragedy and stayed together out of our shared love for Meg Ryan." 

  
  


Jake snickers loudly as Richie finishes, "They're now honorary members of the Losers Club. Just you know," he waves a hand, pulling a face, "millennials.” 

  
  


You don’t engage in this line of work for over a decade without being able to sniff out when something isn’t the full story. And Jake Daniels knows that he has a classic case of that here. There is definitely more to the Adrian Mellon situation, Richie’s and the Loser’s involvement, and that’s even before mentioning how that ‘incident’ that landed ‘Richie’s friend’ in the hospital is shrouded in so much mystery that he’d need to call the Scooby Gang for help to unravel it. 

  
  


But he decides to let it go. Who knows, maybe someday if he ever gets to work for the New Yorker or something, he’ll revisit the subject.

  
  


“Well Richie, I think–”

  
  


He’s cut off by a loud knock reverberating throughout the room.

  
  


With a confused frown, Richie stands up and makes his way over to the door.

  
  


Jake can’t see his face, but does notice that his body instantly drains of all tension.

  
  


“I learned how to knock, asshole,” comes a very familiar voice before Eddie is shoving his way back into the room, calling out, “and look who I found at the catering table.” 

  
  


A short, dark-haired man walking with a cane steps forward, enveloping Richie in a big hug.

  
  


“Adrian!” Beverly calls brightly, hopping up from the couch and reaching out to hug him next.

  
  


“Hey guys,” Adrian murmurs warmly, scanning the room, before his eyes land on Jake, “shit, Rich, sorry. Didn’t realise the interview was today.” 

  
  


Richie merely shrugs and gestures to Jake, “Jake from _Here ‘n’ Queer Magazine_ , meet Adrian Mellon. Adrian, this is Jake. He’s been asking me all kinds of awkward questions.” 

  
  


Adrian reaches out and shakes Jake’s hand, his dark eyes twinkling.

  
  


“Ooh, I _love_ awkward questions. Can I stay and eavesdrop? It’s boring watching Don argue with your publicist over the phone.” 

  
  


Without waiting for a response, Adrian grabs a coke out of the mini-fridge and nudges Stan in hello, the two seemingly already friendly. 

Jake senses another story there.

“We’re coming up on T-minus thirty minutes to showtime,” Bev remarks with a tap to his shoulder, “think it’s time to get dressed, honey.” 

  
  


Richie glances around the room.

  
  


“What, _here_? You guys want a strip-tease?” 

  
  


Adrian lets out a loud wolf-whistle while Mike, Bill, and Ben start hooting and clapping. Stan meets Richie’s eye and raises his empty glance almost like a dare. 

  
  


Bev rolls her eyes, “C'mon, shirt off.”

  
  


Richie presses a hand to his chest, scandalised expression in place. 

  
  


“Beverly, I’m flattered, but you are an engaged woman. And I am very gay.” 

  
  


Eddie shoves a large suit-bag into Richie’s hands, pointing over his shoulder.

  
  


“There’s the bathroom, genius. You don’t need to subject anyone to your nudity.” 

  
  


“Aw, you sure, Eds? My dad bod may not be as aesthetically-pleasing as Haystack’s–well, _everything_ ,” he gestures lewdly up and down in Hanscom’s direction, “but I got some killer dance-moves.” 

  
  


From where he’s sitting, Jake can see the exact moment Eddie’s ears flush red.

  
  


“That’s the first lie you’ve told today–"

  
  


_Second_ , Jake mentally corrects. 

  
  


Eddie scoffs, shoving the taller man towards the bathroom, “You dance like an inflatable tube man on crack.” 

  
  


Richie's squawk of indignation is drowned out by Eddie pushing him into the bathroom and pulling the door closed behind him. 

In the several minutes they all wait for Richie to emerge, the Losers busy themselves with catching up with Adrian. It's here that Jake sees his opportunity. Standing up, he makes his way over to Eddie, who is still waiting by the bathroom door. 

  
  


"You and Richie have known each other a long time?" He begins with a low-ball question, something to gauge the other man's baseline. 

  
  


Eddie frowns at him, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows as he crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

  
  


"Uh yeah. We grew up together." 

  
  


Jake nods, knowing a tough nut to crack when he sees one. 

  
  


“And you...live in his building, right? He livestreams you making him smoothies in the morning before work.”

  
  


Eddie pulls a face.

  
  


“It’s the only way I can make sure he doesn’t get scurvy.” 

  
  


Jake isn’t afraid to admit that he has been a follower of Richie and Eddie’s antics via Instagram and Twitter for a while now. It’s kinda addictive. Watching their entwined lives through the computer screen. The banter, the bickering, the hashtag heckling. He probably should have figured out that they’re in a love a hell of a long time ago, really. Then again, if they themselves don’t seem to know - he can’t beat himself up too much. 

  
  


“You go to a lot of his shows, too,” he states rather than asks, “and help him refine his routine. Richie tweets a lot about it.”

  
  


Eddie shrugs.

  
  


“Someone’s gotta make sure he doesn’t bomb on stage.” 

  
  


“You think he could?”

  
  


“No, not with his own stuff. He’s the funniest person I’ve ever known.” 

  
  


The response is so rapid-fire quick that it seems that Eddie himself hadn’t expected it to come tumbling from his lips. If the furious blush blooming across his entire face is any indicator, anyway.

  
  


“Don’t uh...don’t tell him I said that. His fivehead is big enough without that ego boost.” 

  
  


Jake lets out a small chuckle. 

  
  


“Your secret is safe with me.”

  
  


Eddie throws him some side-eye.

  
  


“Riiiight. Because we can _always_ trust the media.” 

  
  


The journalist held up his hands in surrender.

  
  


“Hey, I’m with you, man. But I’m not FOX News. The magazine jumped at the chance to meet Richie - he’s sort of a local hero. Anything you say to me is strictly off the record. All that’s on it, are Richie’s answers to my questions.” 

  
  


Eddie seems to digest that for a moment, giving a curt nod.

  
  


“A hero, huh?” 

  
  


There is the ghost of a smile playing about his lips, his tone a hell of a lot warmer than before.

  
  


“Yeah,” Jake admits, meeting his eye, “takes a lot of guts, coming out like that. Hell, coming out at any age is terrifying, but as a 40-something, middle-America comedian that made a living out of bad girlfriend jokes? That’s–”

  
  


“Brave,” Eddie finishes, an indistinguishable expression on his face.

Jake nods, opening his mouth to keep prodding, finding this insight into the man who clearly loves Richie Tozier absolutely fascinating.

  
  


_How long have these idiots been tip-toeing around each other?_

  
  


“So, what were you guys like–”

  
  


“I’m ready for my close-up, Ms Marsh!” 

  
  


Jake’s gaze shoots up to the bathroom door that had burst open, revealing Richie in a dark-navy suit jacket and pants that fit him like a second skin. Jake’s lips quirk up in a smirk as he notices the funky print emblazoned in gold on the inside lining as well as around the collar. It is very reminiscent of Tozier’s signature Hawaiian shirts of old, but with just a touch more flare.

  
  


Beverly Marsh, everybody. 

  
  


“Well, what do ya think?” Richie asks, propping his chin in his hands and turning to them all, “Have I finally _grown into my looks_?” 

  
  


The chuckles that the Losers give suggest to Jake that he has missed some inside joke. 

  
  


“You look good, Rich,” Bev assures, stepping over to inspect him, unfurling his sleeve.

  
  


He makes a face at her.

  
  


“No need to lie, Ringwald. I’m well aware what ‘growing into my looks’ means. I'm no oil paint–"

  
  


“You look really handsome.” 

  
  


Colour floods Richie’s cheeks as he gapes at Eddie who is standing still, rooted to the ground, openly staring at him. Eddie, for his part, looks as stunned as everyone else that those words just left his mouth. 

  
  


“Uh…” Richie clears his throat, eyes darting somewhere over his friend’s shoulder, “thanks, Eds.” 

  
  


Eddie nods frantically, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes lowering.

  
  


His nose crinkles.

  
  


“Are you seriously gonna keep the Converse though, dude? Aren’t they a little too…‘90s Nirvana grunge for that suit?” 

Jake thinks that Eddie intended on that coming out sounding a lot less fond than it did. 

  
  


Richie snorted, “‘90s Nirvana grunge has been my jam since the actual ‘90s, Eds. You of all people should remember that.” 

  
  


Eddie’s eyes roll so far back into his head that Jake worries they could stick like that.

  
  


“Yeah, dickwad. I remember you dragging me halfway across the country to see Kurt Cobain because he was ‘the voice of a generation, Eddie Spaghetti, you wouldn’t understand’,” he punctuates with actual air-quotes and what Jake surmises is a cutting impression of teenage Richie, before rolling his eyes again, tone exasperated. 

  
  


“Only for us to _finally_ get there and realise you had been stiffed with fake-ass tickets. How you actually believed you got the real deal for twenty bucks, I’ll never know. And then, THEN your shitty-ass truck breaks down in the middle of nowhere and we had to call your dad to pick us up. I was never more embarrassed in my life. My mom sent out a search party for me, asshole. After everything that happened in ‘89, I’m surprised she didn’t have you arrested for kidnapping me.” 

  
  


Jake watches in fascination as Richie goes on a face journey to end all face journeys while Eddie rants. First, indignation, then exasperation, then a fondness so palpable Jake feels a little like a voyeur intruding on a private moment.

  
  


_Oh, yeah. This guy is ass over tea-kettle in love._

  
  


“What happened in ‘89?” he can’t help but ask. Once an investigator, always an investigator.

  
  


Eddie freezes mid-pace, but recovers quickly.

  
  


“None of your business, FOX News.” 

  
  


Jake let out a laugh as Richie lightly scolds, “Spagheds, play nice. Don’t want the _Here ‘n’ Queer_ folks to read all about the bitchy company I keep, do you?” 

  
  


Eddie arches an eyebrow.

  
  


“It’s a bit late for that, thanks to your Tweets and Instagram streams, man. That ship has sailed.” 

  
  


The look Richie sends him then is downright _sickeningly_ sweet.

  
  


Jake has to admit he was beginning to properly ‘ship these guys. He can’t help but wonder if the internet has managed to come up with a name for them yet. 

  
  


“Don didn’t talk you into the contacts idea, I see,” Adrian pipes up, breaking the pair from their private staring contest, taking a sip from his coke with a mischievous glint in his gaze.

  
  


Richie steps away from Eddie and over to the mirror, meeting Adrian’s eye and pulling a face.

  
  


“Ugh, Hell no. Been there, done that, got the pink-eye. I once dated a guy that tried to get me to wear them ‘cause my glasses made me look like ‘a lankier, less sexy Buddy Holly,’ apparently. I lasted three days. It was a fuckin’ disaster. I kept forgetting to take them out and slept with them in and,” his body gives a full shudder, “they’d end up in the most uncomfortable places. It suh-ucked. He broke up with me after I moaned about peeling one off my ass." 

From out of his peripheral vision, Jake can see Eddie shifting his weight from foot to foot, clearly itching to remark on that.

He could only begin to imagine how. But has an idea that maybe it entails a lot of expletives, followed by the notion of how someone who loves you, shouldn't try change you. And most likely, that he has always had a thing for Buddy Holly. 

"Bastard,” Adrian lamented with a pout, “is that the last time you got laid?” 

  
  


The Losers break into various states of mirth, snorting and laughing loudly.

  
  


Jake feels rather than sees Eddie grow still beside him.

  
  


Richie gapes at Adrian through the mirror, a flush high on his cheeks.

  
  


“Have you asked him _that_ embarrassing question, yet?” Adrian continues, turning to look at Jake, that glint getting brighter as he ignored his friend’s squeak of protest. 

  
  


“Adrian! Dude, nobody wants to know about–”

  
  


“ _Everybody_ wants to know about your sex-life, Richie. Or, lack thereof,” he waves his hand, addressing Jake again, “I’ve been trying to set him up since I met him. But he’s having none of it, the spoilsport.” 

  
  


“I don’t need your help getting a–”

  
  


“Didn’t you say like ten minutes ago that you ‘need all the help you can get?’” Stan interjects with a faux-inquisitive tone, resting his chin on his knuckles, giving his best thousand-yard stare.

  
  
  


“I–that’s not what I meant,” Richie replies weakly, his eyes bouncing from his friends (with the exception of Eddie) to Jake wearily, “can we change the–”

  
  
  


“So when _is_ the last time you got laid, then? ‘Cause I think you may have had a point with your old standup, Rich. It could be a ‘use it or lose it’ type of situation when it comes to _Little Richard_ ,” Adrian smirks, eyes dancing, clearly enjoying himself.

  
  


“I... _do alright_ , Mellon,” Richie replies tightly, and you don’t have to be a detective to figure out that that was definitely his third lie of the day. 

  
  


“Hmm,” Adrian clearly does not believe this either, “I’m not so sure. I mean, I keep saying you could clean up. You all could, you sexy bastards,” he gestures to Mike, “Mike is the muscle stud, Eddie has a kinda twink-vibe goin’ on–”

  
  


“Seriously?” 

  
  


Eddie seems to have recovered, gaping openly at Adrian.

  
  
  


“Oh come on Eds, don't be dumb,” Richie snorts, “You’re not a twink." 

  
  


"Thank you."

  
  


"You’re too old.”

  
  


“Fuck you, I’m only twelves hours older than you ar–.”

  
  


“If anything, you’re a twunk.”

  
  


“The fuck is a ‘twunk’?” 

  
  


Jake cannot take it anymore and bursts out laughing.

  
  


The Losers, featuring Adrian, glance to him.

  
  


“Sorry, sorry,” he holds up his hands, trying to gain some semblance of his professionalism back, “it’s just...you guys should have your own show, or something.”

  
  


A beat passes.

  
  


“Well...Richie already does,” Eddie murmurs, sounding put out.

  
  


A knock sounds throughout the room before an unfamiliar voice calls through the door, “You’re on in ten, Rich!” 

  
  


Richie shakes himself, shouting back, “Thanks, Don!” 

  
  


“Have you seen Adrian?” the muffled voice asks.

  
  


The man in question stands up from his perch leaning on the mini-fridge.

  
  


“And...that’s my cue,” he tips his coke can at Jake, “it was nice meeting you. Cannot wait to read your exposé on this _party-animal._ ”

  
  


Richie flips him off.

  
  


Adrian returns it before tilting his head at Jake.

  
  


“Hey, are you single? It’s just, Richie definitely has a thing for brunets and you–”

  
  


“Isn’t Don waiting on you, Adrian?” Eddie cuts across him sharply, laying a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, giving him a gentle shove towards the door.

  
  


Something passes over Adrian’s face then. He winks at Jake.

  
  


_That little shit-stirer knows exactly what he’s doing. That genius._

  
  


“Yeah, you’re right, Eddie. Besides,” he nudges him with an elbow, “we should probably leave these two _alone_ to finish their interview. Richie goes on soon, _but a lot can happen in ten minutes_ , right?” 

  
  


Eddie looks like he has been forced to swallow a shit sandwich.

  
  


“Uh–”

  
  


“Yeah, we should probably all head out,” Bev announces suddenly, “we gotta go find our seats.” 

  
  


The Losers all begin gathering themselves, the room a flurry of activity as they give their words of encouragement to their friend on the way out.

  
  


“Break a leg, Rich.” 

  
  


“I’ll break all three, Big Bill.”

  
  


“Give ‘em hell, Richie.” 

  
  


“Heaven, hell and purgatory, Mikey.”

  
  


“Don’t forget to do your stretches before you go on. You don’t wanna cramp up.” 

  
  


“I refuse to be a yoga gay, Bev. Stop trying to convert me.” 

  
  


“We’ll be cheering you on in the front row!”

  
  


“You better, Benny boy. Didn’t put your pretty mug front and center for nothin’.”

  
  


“Don’t fuck up.”

  
  


“A wordsmith as always, Stanley. And hey, don’t forget to type out the minutes from your meeting of The Dead Losers' Society. I don’t wanna miss out on any hot goss.”

  
  


Jake frowns quizzically at that but Stan seems to know what Richie means, giving him one last pat on the shoulder.

  
  


And then there were three.

  
  


Eddie stares up at him for several beats before his eyes trail over to Jake.

  
  


“FOX News,” he nods.

  
  


“Twunk,” Jake nods back.

  
  


A flash of irritation passes over Eddie’s face before he glances back to Richie, eyes searching.

  
  


He looks as if he wants to say something, the words clogging in his throat, desperate to escape. His gaze lands briefly on Jake again.

  
  


He shakes his head, frowning, before finally settling on Richie, whose own attention had not faltered from him.

  
  


Eddie’s entire expression melts into something else entirely.

  
  


_Does he know what his face does when he looks at him?_

  
  


“Uh,” he clears his throat, resting a hand on Richie’s shoulder, his dark eyes shining up at him, “you got this, dude. Remember...you’re...you’re braver than you think. I–I’ll leave you guys to it.” 

  
  


Without giving Richie a second to respond, Eddie exits the room without a backwards glance.

  
  


Richie watches him go, letting out a puff of breath.

  
  


Jake waits a beat.

  
  


Then two more.

  
  


“You’re in love with him, huh?” 

  
  


Richie stares at the space Eddie had just been.

  
  


“Off the record?” 

  
  


Jake leans forward and snatches his dictaphone from off the table.

  
  


He had shut it off a while back.

  
  


He’d already gotten plenty to keep the readers enthralled. 

  
  


Everything else had just been a personal bonus.

  
  


“Off the record,” he assures gently.

  
  


Richie turns to him, his face open in a way that Jake could tell doesn’t happen too often.

  
  


“I’ve been in love with that short-assed, short-fused hypochondriac since I was twelve years old.” 

  
  


Jake chuckles.

  
  


“Yeah. I figured.” 

  
  


He holds out his hand.

  
  


“It was a pleasure meeting you, Richie Tozier. I can honestly say, you’re nothing like what I expected.” 

  
  


Richie shakes his hand.

  
  


“Is...that a good thing?” 

  
  


“Oh, yeah.”

  
  


“Then it was a pleasure meeting you too, Jake Daniels. I hope you find someone who would never dream of ordering you a JD and coke.” 

  
  


Jake lets out one last laugh, and with that, he takes his leave, letting Richie gather himself before he has to go on stage.

  
  


It is when he’s turning right to head down the long corridor towards the auditorium that he almost crashes head-first into a power-walking Eddie.

  
  


“Whoa, shit, sorry!” the short brunet holds up his hands, a manic gleam in his eye before something catches his attention over Jake’s shoulder.

  
  


Jake has a feeling what that something might be.

  
  


Eddie gives him one last look, this one almost apologetic, before taking off at a run, shouting - “Rich! Richie, wait!” 

  
  


Jake watches as Eddie almost barrels into Richie who reaches out to steady him, having just exited his dressing room, making his way towards the wings of the stage.

  
  


He is too far away to hear what is going on, but Jake can see an overly-animated Eddie explain something to a clearly confused Richie, complete with hand motions and an energy that almost makes it seem as if Eddie is going to vibrate out of his skin any second.

  
  


But after a beat, something shifts. Eddie’s body drains of that manic tension as he suddenly reaches up, cupping Richie’s face in his palm, murmuring something to him, a small smile on his face. Richie stares down at him, awe-struck, looking as if he is simultaneously seconds away from crying and jumping up and down with joy.

  
  


Softly, in the small space between their faces, Richie says something back to him.

  
  


They both break out into wide grins as Eddie’s hand moves to cup the back of Richie’s neck, pulling him down as he leans up on his tip-toes and–

  
  


Jake turns on his heel, giving them some privacy.

  
  


They deserve it.

  
  


As he makes his way to his seat several minutes later, catching on the sight of the Losers, Adrian and a tall man that must have been Don, sitting in the very front row, one thought flickers through his mind.

  
  


_We’re in for one hell of a show..._

* * *

More [Reddie fics here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortexikid/works?fandom_id=134900) if you’re interested. Hope you enjoyed! And if the story of how Adrian, Stan and Eddie were all resurrected and became buds interests you, I have something exploring that in the pipeline. So, [watch this space](https://octoberobserver.tumblr.com/tagged/my_fanfiction) ;) 

**Author's Note:**

> The companion piece featuring Eddie's POV during this, is now up :)


End file.
